


The Graduate

by JustLyra



Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Developing Friendships, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Slightly creepy friendship, inappropriate relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-12-01 19:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: Marc returns from uni after passing his uni course with flying colours. At a party held by his proud parents he meets their friend Santi, who takes a keen interest in the younger man...A prompt that has well and truly bitten





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariposaroja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariposaroja/gifts).



Getting off the train with a sigh Marc hoisted his rucksack up onto his shoulder, his battered suitcase just about wheeling despite only having three wheels after a student week in Ibiza. Stepping off the train in Cervera, the end of his course meaning a, hopefully brief, return home, he looked for his family on the crowds on the platform, groaning slightly when he spotted them, ALL of them, waiting with smiles and a banner welcoming him home.

“Hello Mama.” Instantly hauled into a rib crushing hug from his mother, Marc wriggled slightly, fearing being smothered by the material of her coat. Patting her back, her tears those of pride, Marc somehow managing to get the best grade in the whole country for his course, Marc laughed as she muttered about how much he was going to achieve with his life. “If you kill me by crushing my insides then I’ll never achieve anything!”

“Well done son. We’re very proud.” Thumping Marc’s back the second Roser released him from her death grip, Julie wrapped his eldest son in a slightly less smothering, but no less warm, hug, Marc’s father always changing from a quiet and stoic man into a loud and demonstrative one whenever Marc, or Alex, achieved anything. “Well done, well done!”

*

Fidgeting with his collar, even with his tie abandoned and his top button open Marc hated the formal wear. He didn’t begrudge his parents their proud celebration – they’d sacrificed a lot to give him and Alex the best education – Marc couldn’t stifle his yawn; long nights studying (and celebrating) combining with his long journey to leave him exhausted. Wandering over to his father’s table, Julia chatting with some friends, Marc smiled politely. “Papa, is it ok if I call it a night?”

“You young ones have no stamina these days!” Julia laughed, giving away exactly where Marc’s loud laugh came from. “Your brother was meant to be driving…”

“Erm…” Glancing at Alex, his younger brother on the dancefloor flowing shapes like he was at a rave, Marc laughed. “I’ll get a cab.”

“I can drop you off.” Santi Hernandez, a local garage owner and one of Julia’s long-time friends smiled. “I need to be getting back and I pass your street on the way.”

*

Glancing to the side, the younger man almost sprawled out on the passenger seat, at least three buttons of his shirt open giving a tantalising glimpse of a very toned chest, Santi subconsciously licked his lips. “So, what are your plans now then?”

“I don’t know.” Answering honestly, the slight hint of petulance due to having been asked at least a dozen times at the party (and a zillion times in his final year of his course) Marc sighed. “Probably just chill for the summer I think.”

Nodding, understanding the wish to veg out after a busy final year and busy exam schedule, Santi tilted his head. “Your father spoke to me about giving you some work experience. We’re probably a bit beneath your skill level, but for hands on experience…”

“Thanks. I’ll, erm, think about it.” Something about the way the older man spoke, and his frequent glances, made Marc tingle. Not uncomfortably, but not pleasantly either. Just something, bells ringing in his brain, Marc pointed to the side of the road. “There is fine, I can walk down the hill, some fresh air will do me good.”

Indicating and pulling into the side of the road, Santi smiled again, his lips wetted by his tongue again. “Anything you want Marc, just ask.”

“Right. Thanks.”

*

“Another pancake?” Roser turned to Marc, loving having her three boys around the breakfast table. “You’ll need energy for your busy day at work.”

Marc frowned, confused, his only plan for the day having been to beat Alex at PlayStation and bully him for details of his new girlfriend. “Work?”

“Oh yes. I forgot to say last night.” Julia put down his newspaper, smiling widely. “Santi called. They have a prestigious bike coming in for repair, it might lead to a contract for the garage for the Lorenzo race team. He thought it would be a good chance for you to get your face known. He’s picking you up at 11am as he wants you to go and collect it with him.”

“I got the highest _ever_ grade for my course.” Slightly uncomfortable about spending time with the older man, him having featured in several dreams since the night of the party, Marc pouted at the suggestion that a backwater garage would be necessary for him to be known. “My face is already known…”

“Marc!” Admonishing him with a tone, the one that said ‘don’t get too big for your boots regardless of your results’ Roser shook her head. “Santi is a good man, he has lots of good contacts. Plus, it’s not good for you to be sitting about all day.”

“Can I have another pancake please Mama?” Marc smiled his best smile, competing with Alex when he also requested another, each begging for the next one, situation normal resumed in the Marquez household.

*

“The bike is at Montmelo. They were testing there this weekend.” Breaking the awkward silence, Santi glanced at Marc, raising an amused eyebrow at his pale blue designer labelled polo shirt. “Not planning on getting your hands dirty?”

“I’ve got another top with me. I’m not an idiot…”

“Not with grades like that, no.” Santi sounded impressed, that making Marc smile and relax slightly, the nerves relaxing his shoulders. “So, what do you actually want to do with the grades? Design? R and D?”

“I want to be a MotoGP crew chief.” Lighting up as he discussed his childhood dream, his route unusual, but explainable, Marc beamed when Santi stated Marc should be involved with designing the bikes as opposed to merely fixing them. “You think?”

“Most definitely. Your results were outstanding.”

“I don’t know why.” Marc laughed, the self-deprecation genuine. “It wasn’t that difficult. I’ve no idea how some people failed.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.” Santi smiled, laughing softly. “Underestimation is the biggest thing that trips people up.”

*

Working with Santi wasn’t what Marc expected. He wasn’t “my father’s friend”, he very quickly became someone Marc could speak too easily. They chatted about MotoGP and mechanics, but also about Marc’s hopes for the future, some of his adventures at university. Fixing the final strap, the Lorenzo Racing bike firmly secured in Santi’s trailer, mostly by Marc doing the heavy lifting, Marc smiled. “All set?”

“Yep. Got the paperwork. Now we just have to fix it up to prove we’re up to the job.” Santi puffed out his cheeks, the early evening sun hot on their backs. Reaching for the hem of his t-shirt he pulled it over his head, not missing Marc’s surprised look, smirking to himself at the confirmation of his suspicion. “Too fucking hot here.”

“Yeah. It is.” Marc bit his lip, slightly awkward for a moment before following suit and peeling his top off, missing the way Santi licked his lips. “Back to your place?”

“You’ll get yourself in trouble one of these days.” Santi chuckled, Marc going bright red as they wandered back to the van. “I bet that mouth got you in bother at uni!”

“Sometimes!” Marc cackled, before his relaxation showed in the way he shrugged cockily. “Got me out of trouble sometimes too.”

“I bet…” Getting into the van, Santi glanced over at Marc, deciding to go all in, test the water well and truly. “I’m sure a few boys and girls enjoyed your way of getting yourself out of trouble.” Laughing at Marc’s look, the younger man torn between laughing with a friend and finding it awkwardly inappropriate, Santi laughed it off, starting the engine to get them back to the garage, the seeds of _something_ planted in Marc’s mind.


	2. Chapter 2

"MARC!" Julian hollered from the bottom of the stairs, sharing a "Kids?" eye roll with Santi, Marc and Alex having spent most of the night playing loudly on the PlayStation. "Marc Marquez! Santi does not have all day to wait for you!"

"I thought you said eleven?" Dashing down the stairs, his skin and hair still damp from his shower, Marc blushed at the way Santi cast his eyes over him, shirtless, his shorts slung low on his hips as he rummaged through the bundle of clean washing his mother had threatened to chuck in the bin if he didn't move it to his bedroom. "Sorry. I was sure we said eleven."

"The grown up world doesn't start at eleven am Marc!" Julia rolled his eyes. 

"If only it did!" Santi laughed, julia joining them, the two older men chuckling in that was adults did when kids said something stupid, something that highlighted that they were kids, that feeling making Marc cringe with embarassment and seethe with the kind of anger he should have left behind with his teenage years as he pulled on a clean top.

*

"Did you win?"

"Sorry?" Marc looked up, Santi driving them to the garage on the outskirts of town in silence until that moment. "Win?"

"PlayStation... you had a battle planned with Alex, no?"

"Oh. Yeah. And yes, I always win." Marc smiled politely, the conversation feeling very much like an adult-to-child chat, his confusion from the day before well and truly cleared up.

"I bet it gets competitive!" Santi laughed, his deep chuckle vibrating around the van cab. "My brother and I were like that as kids. Not PlayStation obviously, but everything else. Our mother used to despair."

"That sounds about right! Ours was yelling last night because we were being too mean to each other." Marc rolled his eyes, remembering with fond amusement Roser's threat to put their controllers on top of the  kitchen cupboards. "I think she forgets Alex is the tallest in the house now!"

"Jajaja!" Santi laughed again, stealing occasional glances at the younger man. "She probably knows if she did it then neither of you would defy her, no matter how tall you were. Mothers know when they've done a good job."

"That's true actually." Marc smiled, Roser certainly in the category of mothers who wouldn't be defied regardless of the age of her children. "She will still be in charge when we're in our seventies."

"I can see that actually... Wow..." Santi shrugged, blushing mostly on purpose, Marc following his gaze to the traffic crossing they were stooped at, a shirtless hunk of muscle crossing the road whilst chatting on his phone, a _male_  shirtless hunk, Santi's reaction leaving Marc stunned, and confused again. "So, the parts will be delivered after lunch so we will focus on stripping the bike down this morning."

"Right." Nodding the change of subject brief before they lapsed back into silence, Santi focussing on the tricky junction just before the garage, it notorious in the town for oblivious pedestrians wandering into the road, Marc studied the older man carefully, his previously settled confusion back with full force.

*

 "You can't say anything..." Wiping his hands on a rag, having worked silently for three hours methodically stripping the crumpled bike, Santi's tone was almost begging as he turned to Marc. "About earlier..."

Nodding, just grateful the silence had been broken, quietness always like torture for him, Marc took a swig from a bottle of water, the heat inside the garage as stifling as the awkward atmosphere. "I won't. No one would mind, but I won't."

"you're not that naive..." Slightly sharp, Santi shrugged at slightly hurt look on Marc's face, pretending he had not spotted the signs of Marc's owns predilections. "You have no idea what it's like to be... _different_... in a town like this, but you're not naive enough to believe that... We'll finish stripping out the gearbox and then it's lunch."

Putting the cap back on his water, Santi very clearly signalling the end of the conversation, Marc chewed on his lip, floundering slightly at where they were, if they were friends he'd tell him, he'd say _actually, I do,_ but they weren't friends. He was Julia's friend and that meant risking information getting back. Information he knew in his heart his parents wouldn't hate him for, but that he wasn't ready to share. Picking up a spanner he realised that actually, santi was right, he wasn't that naive.

*

"I'm not naive." Lunch eaten in silence, Marc couldn't take the quiet anymore as they started fitting the new parts to the bike, glancing up at Santi, tilting his head to the side. "People mostly don't care now... Your friends wouldn't care."

"You have no idea..." His eyes burning into Marc, Santi shook his head, knowing he was being slightly mean, but needing any confirmation from Marc's own mouth. "It's easy to say that, but..."

"I do know... Sort of..." Marc blushed slightly, Santi's raised eyebrow making him lick his lips instinctively, something about the ruffled and sweaty older man getting right under his skin. "I'm bi."

"Oh." Santi frowned, not actually the least bit surprised. "Do your parents know?"

"No." Panicking slightly that he'd misjudged the situation, Marc implored him with a look. "Please don't tell them. I'll tell them when I'm ready."

"Of course not." Santi smiled, taking the spanner from Marc's hand, a cliche of sparks flying for Marc when santi's hand brushed his skin, his eyes fixed on the younger man. "It'll be our little secret."


	3. Something special, or...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

“Well…” Stepping back from the bike, wiping his hands on a rag, Santi nodded, proud of their work. “Despite the change in deadline I think we did a bloody good job on that!”

Running his hand over the bike, the shiny sponsor-clad fairings hiding the intricate machine that had been rebuilt from smithereens, Marc grinned. “We did. It’s beautiful.”

“It is.” Santi looked at his watch, cursing when he realised it had gone 10pm, his stomach suddenly rumbling in protest at the long afternoon since lunch. “Right. We need to set off early tomorrow morning so how about I drive you to yours, you pack a bag while I go and fetch a takeaway then we’ll have food and a few beers here and we’ll set off early doors?”

Frowning, slightly confused, Marc frowned. “Here? We’ll eat and sleep here?”

“Well, in the caravan.” Santi laughed, Marc shaking his head at his own daft question, his cheeks pinking beautifully. “Come on Marquez, you are obviously suffering from lack of fuel.”

Laughing as Santi slapped his shoulder, the touch of the older man’s hand on his cotton covered skin making him shiver, Marc wiped his grimy hands on his jeans, hoping he’d have time to run into the shower while Santi sorted the food.

*

Splashing aftershave on cheeks, Marc caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shook his head, laughing as he re-ruffled his hair. “Get a grip you dick.”

*

“You’ve inspired me.” Dumping the bag on the table, slightly amused by Marc’s open-mouthed shock at the caravan, Santi pointed toward the kitchen area. “You dish up while I jump in the shower. I fucking stink.”

Marc nodded, his eyes darting around the ‘caravan’ as Santi kicked off his boots and padded away, the luxurious fixtures and fittings of the sumptuous motorhome taking him completely by surprise. “Focus on the king po beef Marc, focus.”

*

“No way!” Marc cackled loud, the story about Santi’s friend amusing him more than normal because he had regarded the friend as a sensible adult and had never been privy to amusing details about him. “What happened next?”

Taking a sip of his beer, lounging on his sofa in shorts and a t-shirt, Marc sprawled along the other end of the sofa looking devastatingly good in tight jeans and a tighter t-shirt, the effort he’d made with his appearance not missed by Santi. “Well our other friend went up to the guy and… Actually… No, I can’t tell you that bit.”

“Why not?” Marc almost pouted, several beers and a relaxed feeling showing in his huff. “Tell.”

Santi shook his head, laughing slightly, combining the laugh with a slight wince. “I almost told you a story your father would **not** want you to know.”

“Well, now I’m really curious!”

“I bet you are!” Santi shook his head, laughing as he got up to get more beer, making Marc grin with his next sentence. “I’ll have to remember that; being mates with both of you will have its difficulties!”

*

“Espargaro!” Santi laughed, Marc’s face going bright red, their friendly chat bringing more and more secrets out of their hiding places. “I thought you two hated each other?”

Marc shrugged, wishing he hadn’t said anything, having been a long time since he thought about his ex-schoolmate. “We do. Well, he does. We wanted different things.”

“He wanted you and you wanted someone else?”

“No.” Marc shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “He wanted everything to be secret forever.”

“And you want to be out and proud?”

“I’m not a naïve kid…” Sitting up slightly straighter, Santi’s low chuckle making him feel about twelve, Marc shook his head, taking a drink before speaking. “I wasn’t saying we had to announce it at prom… Just that one day I will be open and honest about who I am.”

“Maybe he’s not as lucky as you…” Santi smiled fondly at Marc’s curious look. “Not everyone has parents like yours.”

“True.” Marc smiled, an instinctive smile appearing at any mention of his family, nodding in agreement before he frowned. “Your family wouldn’t…”

“I don’t want to talk about them.” Shaking his head, downing the remainder of his bottle of beer, Santi bit his lip, not even Marc’s hand reaching out to squeeze his arm taking the sting away as he thought about the reactions his teenage confession had received. “We’ve got an early start in the morning so...”

“Yeah. Night.” Startled, and saddened, by Santi’s instant shut down, the mention of his family breaking the friendly camaraderie between them, Marc watched the older man plod across the floor to his bedroom, Marc’s sleeping bag folded on the end of the comfortable sofa, Santi leaving him alone with his confused thoughts for the night.

*

“Christ…” Swallowing hard, Santi couldn’t help looking at Marc, the younger man stripped to his boxers and sprawled out asleep on his back on the sofa, his sleeping bag kicked aside giving the older man the perfect view of his defined muscles and a hint of his white bits as he stretched out with his arms above his head. Shaking his head, Santi coughed loud, scolding himself, but unable to contain the smile as Marc’s nose wrinkled at the disturbance. “Wakey wakey Marc…”

“Urgh…” Rolling onto his stomach, almost pitching onto the floor, Marc cursed, the darkness surrounding the motorhome giving him a clue as to the early hour, giving Santi’s low chuckle the finger behind his back. “Too early.”

“Sometimes you are such a teenager.” Santi laughed, watching Marc’s movements, his lithe body almost wriggling in unhappiness at being disturbed. “Come on grumble, the sooner we get going the sooner we finish.”

*

“Wages…” Parking the van outside the garage Santi handed Marc a bundle of notes, before smiling and handing him another bundle. “Your share of Lorenzo’s generous bonus.”

Taking the notes, realising how much was there, enough to pay for a track day for Alex’s birthday with enough left over, Marc raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“You did the work…” Watching Marc do all his mental calculations, Santi cleared his throat, shrugging like it was barely important. “I might be able to put a bit more work your way during the summer, if you fancy it?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Embarrassing himself slightly at his enthusiasm, Marc nodded, laughing. “I’m skint so any work is good!”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Checking his watch, despite the fact he knew exactly what time it was, the slower route back from the drop off point deliberately chosen, Santi grinned, a wide manic grin. “Well, there is a pint in the pub with my name on it. Fancy one?”

“Erm.” Surprised by the invitation, Santi’s conversations making him confused wether the older man saw him as a friend or an annoying kid, Marc decided to take the bull by the horns, something in him keen to get to know Santi more. “Yeah, sure. My round.”

*

“Show me the way to go home…” Marc cackled loud, the pint in the pub having turned into several pints and a trip to a cheesy nightclub, the soberer Santi hissing at him to be quiet. “I’m tired and I want to go to bed… Had a couple of drinks bout an hour ago and it’s gone right to my head…”

“Steady!” Grabbing Marc’s arm as he stumbled, Santi froze as Marc’s hands came to his hips as he balanced himself, making him chuckle at the surprised look on Marc’s face at his own near-fall. “Your parents are going to kill me.”

“Ssshhh… Don’t tell them.” Theatrically whispering in the way drunk people do, Marc wiggled his fingers, giggling as he weakly tickled Santi’s side, before pouting at the lack of reaction. “Boo! Why you no ticklish?”

“Marc…” Santi couldn’t help laughing, not at the tickling, but at Marc’s annoyance. “You are something else drunk…”

“Just drunk…” Marc bit his lip, alcohol making him braver, doing his best to look coy and sultry. “Or am I _always_ something else…”

“Marc…” The tone that should be there audible, Santi did nothing. He said nothing and waited, knowing what Marc was about to do, and knowing exactly how he’d react, his flirty comments and touches in the pub having brought Marc to exactly the point Santi wanted him.

“Santi…” Leaning in, pressing his soft lips to Santi’s, trying to persuade the older man into joining in, his pride soaring when Santi did, just for a second, before he pulled away, holding Marc at arm’s length, just looking at him, letting the younger man realise what he’d done – he’d kissed his boss, his Dad’s friend, his Dad’s _male_ friend, in the middle of the street. “I…”

“Goodnight Marc…” Wanting nothing more than to drag Marc back to his motorhome and ruin him, Santi nodded, his tone slightly curt, taking back the higher stance that he needed to keep Marc guessing, smirking slightly at the slumped shoulders and dropped head as Marc staggered up to the front door and fiddled with the keys.

“What did you do?” Marc hissed at himself, finally getting the door open, turning to find Santi already gone, his body and mind in conflict over the kiss, his brain scrambled.


	4. "You're too drunk, you are coming with me"

Sitting at the bar, the pint in his hand long since flat and warm, Santi seethed as he watched Marc; the younger man in the corner of the bar with a group of friends, the group noisy and jovial, celebrating summer, Marc the loudest of them all.

Gripping his glass hard, anger and jealousy surging through his veins, he watched as Marc went t to the beer garden, a slight stagger in his step, the tall blonde he’d been flirting with all night blatantly following him, both of them secure in the trust of their friends.

*

“Marc!” Santi’s resolve to ignore Marc, to leave the younger to make his choices and mistakes, to respect his right to do both of those things, only lasted three or four minutes. The idea of the sleazy blonde, and in Santi’s mind he was taking advantage of how much Marc had drunk, touching Marc had enraged him to the point his palms hurt from the dig of his own nails.

“Kinda busy…” Shooting Santi a look, one that was defiantly a look shared between friends, a plea for privacy to misbehave, Marc wriggled his hand free from Eli’s jeans, “Catch you later, yeah?”

The plea in Marc’s tone, and eyes, infuriated Santi even more, the idea of Marc wanting the other man making his chest constrict, Santiago stared toward the pair, the closer he got to the dim alcove the more rumpled clothing he could see, the obvious intensity of their few private minutes making him burn with jealousy, “Now.”

“We’re waiting on a taxi…”

“Are you now?” The cheek of the other young man interrupting them angers him more, Santi fought back the urge to land a punch on Eli Gonzales’ face, “I think, unless you want to jeapordise your budding police career with a report of public indecency then you should fasten your jeans and fuck off.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Santi, come on man…”

Ignoring Marc, his focus solely on the taller man, Santi stepped forward another step, fixing Eli with a dark look, “Unless you want your father’s mayoral campaign to be tainted by his sons indiscretions I suggest you fuck off. Now.”

Pulling up his zip, Eli shrugged at Marc, “I’m out of here, call me sometime when crazy isn’t around.”

“Not going to happen,” Not moving, forcing Eli to squeeze between himself and the wall, Santi watched until Eli was gone, the taxi arriving just as he exited through the squeaky gate, that noise loud enough that anyone listening would assume both Marc and Eli were gone, Santi having come out unnoticed. “I don’t want you calling him.”

“That’s not up to you.” Pissed off, mostly because he was hard and frustrated, partly because he’d been fucked by Eli before and knew it would be reasonably good, certainly not because his former schoolmate was the love of his life, Marc glared at the older man, his actions annoying, and somewhat annoying since he’d practically ignored Marc since the night of the kiss, “What the fuck was that all about?”

Stepping closer, backing Marc against the cold brick wall, Santi took in how dishevelled Marc was – ruffled hair, untucked shirt, belt free of its loop – and hissed out a slow breath, “Stay away from him.”

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” pushed back as he tried to step forward, Marc’s nose flared in anger, his brain mangled with the confusion, “Hey!”

“Shut up,” Encroaching into Santi’s space, Santi crashed their mouths together, the force thumping Marc’s head against the wall, Santi’s tongue instantly pushing into Marc’s mouth, demanding access rather than asking as his hands went instantly to Marc’s min covered arse, squeezing hard enough to leave ten tiny bruises. Changing the pace as Marc tried to join in, his hands going to Santi’s shirt to hang on, not that santi wasn’t pressing against him hard enough to stop him moving an inch, Santi kissed him until Marc’s lungs were burning, his lips swollen and his erection harder than ever before. “You’re too drunk to go home alone, you are coming with me.”

*

“You can’t leave me like this…” Almost breathless, and definitely pleading, Marc shook his head as Santi tilted his head toward the gate, “I can’t walk like this.”

Stepping back closer to Marc, the darkness in his eyes making the younger shiver, Santi reached down, palming Marc through his clothes, making him arch away from the wall, grunting as Santi rubbed him slightly too harshly, “Is this what Eli was going to do? Give you a hand job in the beer garden? Make you cum in your pants like some sort of cheap slut?”

Barely registering Santi’s voice, his entire body reacting to the rough touches, Marc’s toes curled as he got painfully close to the edge, “Please.”

“No,” Stilling his hand, pressing hard against Marc, but offering no more of the glorious friction, Santi bent his head to Marc’s neck, sinking his teeth into the smooth, honeyed skin. Feeling Marc shiver under his teeth Santi bit harder still, not amateurish enough to break the skin, but it hard enough to mark and, most importantly, yank Marc back from the precipice, “You are way to special for that.”

“Please, please…” No longer sure what he was begging for, Santi’s tone and actions scrambling his brain, Marc clung to Santi’s shoulders, tears in his eyes as his energy seemed to drain away, “Santi, please…”

“Shut up,” Putting his boss façade back in place, Santi clicked his tongue, stepping back from Marc, removing all stimulation, “You are far too drunk to go home alone, you’re coming with me.”

*

His brain scrambled, the walk back to the garage motorhome completely silent, and painful due to his still semi hard cock, Marc felt his cheeks redden, mortified by the high pitched yelp that escaped him as Santi threw him against the motorhome. Shivering, his brief thought about how many bruises he’d have was taken over by a lung burning wonder if Santi was trying to suffocate him with his mouth, the kiss brutal in ferocity.

Licking away the taste of alcohol from Marc’s tongue, Santi’s roaming hands wandered under Marc’s shirt, nimble fingers quickly finding his nipples, toying with them gently at first, waiting until he head a low groan from Marc’s throat before playing harder, making Marc dance the line between pleasure and pain, each little sting of a flicked finger holding him on a sharp edge.

Freeing his mouth from Santi’s, Marc took a gasp of air, feeling lightheaded as his fingers scrabbled against the shiny wall of the motorhome, desperately trying to find purchase on something as Santi popped the button of his jeans and pushed a hand into his boxers, the lightest touch of fingers on his cock causing a scream that echoed out into the night air.

“Is this what you were going to let Eli do?” Using his free hand to grip Marc’s chin, Santi forced the younger man to look at him, squeezing his cock painfully when the younger tried to evade the intensity of his glare by closing his eyes, “Is it? Were you going to let that grubby little upstart touch you like this? In the beer garden? Were you? Were you going to let him wrap his mucky fingers around your dick where anyone could have walked out and seen?... Answer me!”

“Yyyyess…” Conflicted, Santi’s firm, but slow, strokes moving him gradually closer to the edge, but the situation confusion, Santi’s constant change from elder to peer, to _this_ , the dark, angry tone to his voice, Marc whimpered as Santi’s hand left him and he was spun around, his face thumping against cold metal as his jeans and boxers were pulled down, his cock and arse exposed to the cool air, “Not here.”

“Oh, _now_ it’s ‘ _not here_ ’ is it?” Santi bit sharply on Marc’s neck, not caring how much explaining the younger would have to do the next day, “It was ok for Eli Gonzales to touch you like this so why not now? I know you want me, I can _feel_ how much you want it…”

“Please!” Dropping his head back onto Santi’s check as a hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking him to the perfect rhythm, his balls so close to exploding, only tempered by a spit soaked finger delving into his crack, pressing against his hole, “Please…”

“If it’s good enough for him, then it’s good enough for me,” Flicking his wrist harder Santi pushed his finger into Marc, the intrusion rough, but not damaging, the sensations enough to see Marc pushed over the edge, screaming loud as he spurted over Santi’s hand, his wails of pleasure quickly turning to whimpers as his prostate was rubbed, fire sparking in his over sensitive body as Santi breathed hot air over his ear, “We’re not done yet baby, not by a long way.”


	5. A guy...

“Jesus H. Christ, did you bump into a vampire?” Lounging on Marc’s bed playing his Playstation, Alex chuckled, both at the ruined state of his brother and the surprised yelp that escaped him, “So, where did you end up last night then?”

Shirt in hand, having pulled it off as he walked into his, empty he thought, bedroom, Marc took a few deep breaths to calm his racing pulse, “Fucking hell Alex!”

“Sorry…” Not sounding or looking sorry, Alex paused his game, looking at his brother with expectation of gossip, “Where did you go?”

“I…”

“And before you say you stayed at Eli’s, I saw him with Raul and Luis at nine this morning when I went to pick up the breakfast rolls you promised you’d get…”

“I.. I crashed at Santi’s. He caught me and Eli in the beer garden,” Opting for a story as close to the truth as possible, leaving out the bit about Santi fucking him against the motorhome until he screamed so loud through a second orgasm he worried he’d damaged his voice forever, Marc shrugged, stripping off his jeans, desperate for a shower, “Where are Mama and Papa?”

“Aunty Maria’s – they left at six am so you are fine… Eli really mauled you this time, eh?” Alex chuckled, ducking as Marc picked up a model motorbike and chucked it at him.

“Fuck off, and get out of my room…” Marc laughed, over exaggerating it a bit lest Alex realise that he was beyond confused. Santi having switched roles at least three times since they left the pub; first taking Marc apart roughly, occasionally brutally, against the motorhome wall whilst ranting about his recklessness and cursing jealously about Eli. Then changing in the morning – reaching for Marc’s morning erection and kissing him with a tenderness Marc was too young to have experienced before, his body mapped by the older man’s fingers and tongue, so much attention lavished on his sore red hole that Marc thought he may come from that alone, before fucking him in a way that Marc imagined could only be described as making love, the orgasm burning through Marc so powerfully, yet so gently, that tears escaped his eyes.

Heading for the bathroom Marc sighed, the next change coming over breakfast, Santi talking about work, taking them back to being boss and employee, that switch leaving Marc even more confused than ever.

*

Standing in the shower, scalding hot water beating down on his scalp and shoulders, Santi reached for himself, sure that the memory of Marc – the noises, the tastes, the little reactions to being taken apart over and over again, and the glorious confusion as Santi played with his mind – would have him hard over and over again in a way that belied his age.

Remembering the way Marc mewled as he was licked open, his legs over Santi’s shoulder, his body malleable like warm wax, Santi stroked himself harder, his eyes closed as he imagined the water was Marc’s fingers, scrabbling against his scalp, the younger man shivering at the intimacy and weeping at the pleasure of someone doing _that_ for so long.

Bringing himself to the edge, Santi bit his lip hard as he pictured the moment he entered Marc, their foreheads together, Marc’s legs and arms wrapped around him, desperately hanging on as Santi’s name cried out of his mouth as he took him apart again. The morning was so different to the desperation of the night before, everything was so tender that Marc wasn’t sure how to handle it, having to rely solely on instinct; that telling him to trust Santi, to hand himself over and fall a little harder, that giving Santi the glee of watching Marc tumble over the edge with tears on his cheeks, Santi’s name on his lips and his eyes open with such honesty and vulnerability that it was even more beautiful, and satisfying, than Santi could ever have imagined.

 *

Stopping for a second at the end of the road, too nervous to even pretend to himself that he didn’t care, Marc smoothed his carefully chosen t-shirt with his hands before switching on the camera on his phone to check that his hair was still in place. Aware that he smelled too much of aftershave and looked too coiffured for a day of work in a grimy garage Marc gave himself a few stern words.

Santi was the one that interrupted him and Eli.

Santi was the one that crashed their mouths together the first time.

Santi was the one that fucked him against the motorhome like the idea of Marc fucking someone else was the most offensive thing in the world.

Santi was the one who’d touched and stroked and licked and kissed him until he fell apart in his arms.

Santi was the one who started it all so Santi was clearly interested.

Quickening his pace he turned the corner, the confident spring in his step making him wish he could whistle as he walked through the gates, the sight of Santi standing on the motorhome step chatting to another guy only making him slow, before the next image he saw made him stop in his tracks, all confidence gone.

Santi hugging a guy.

Santi hugging a guy around Marc’s age.

Santi hugging a guy around Marc’s age who had a bag slung over his shoulder.

Santi hugging a guy around Marc’s age, who had a bag over his shoulder and who’d clearly stayed the night.

A guy, around Marc’s age, getting into his car and waving, smiling, like he’d had a good night with Santi.

Santi, waving at the guy, then at Marc, “Morning Marc!”

“Morning.”

 

 


	6. Confusing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!

“Something wrong, Marc?” Watching Marc stomp around the garage all morning, clearly in a huff, easy to work out why, Santi frowned with fake concern.

Glaring at the older man, Marc shrugged, “Why should anything be wrong?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I asked,” Putting down the spanner in his hand, having immediately set them to work on an important job the second Marc had arrived, Santi wiped his hands on a rag, “You seem unhappy this morning.”

Tempted to throw the fairing he was working on at the older man’s head, Marc’s fists clenched in anger, Santi not even allowing him to do any of the important parts of the job, mostly having given Marc simple (and tedious) tasks that could have been completed by a child, or even a monkey, “Can’t imagine why…”

“I can’t,” Walking around the bike, almost stalking toward the workbench that Marc was working at, Santi tilted his head to the side, his tongue poking out to wet his lips, “I thought you and I got on _well_ …”

Eyes flaring in anger, Marc couldn’t help the spat-out barb, “You seem to get on _well_ with a lot of people.”

“What are yo… Oh, do you mean Joan?” Santi kept walking until he was in front of Marc, as usual getting into the younger man’s personal space, Marc steadfastly refusing to take a step back, “Why would _you_ be jealous of _Joan_?”

“I’m **not** jealous,” Aware he sounded jealous, Marc’s face reddened in a combination of anger and embarrassment, deciding instantly that he hated _Joan_ , “Is it lunchtime yet?”

“Do you want it to be lunchtime?”

Hating the way Santi was inching closer to him and all he wanted to do was pull the older man into a kiss, Marc stepped to the side, trying his best to sound as nonchalant as he could possibly muster, “You’re the boss, so that would be up to you.”

“Yes, I am the boss,” Santi smirked, loving the way Marc unravelled when he was flustered, “I suppose it could be lunchtime… Are you coming to the van for lunch?”

“No thanks. I’ve got sandwiches.”

“Ok,” Santi walked away, not looking back as he spoke, well able to visualise the anger that would show on Marc’s face at his words, “Your Mama does make lovely sandwiches. I’ll see you in an hour…”

“I made my own lunch!” Cursing the sentence as soon as it left his mouth, his wish to seem grown up and mature completely ruined by the childish strop and petulant words, Marc sat up on the uncomfortable wooden bench, watching Santi head for the luxurious motorhome, an hour suddenly seeming like a very long time.

*

“Sorry I’m late, got caught on a call,” Not sorry at all, deliberately returning from lunch more than thirty minutes late, waiting until Marc had finished his set job, one well below his abilities, Santi smiled, “You don’t need to do that, I’ll finish it.”

Literally having just started the interesting job, having waited around for a few minutes after finishing his own, Marc almost slammed the wrench down on the workbench, “Got more stickers for me to place?”

“No,” Santi laughed, that sound cutting through Marc like a knife through butter, “Marc, sometimes we all need to pitch in with the shit jobs. It’s not all top engineering, sometimes it’s fairings and shit donkey work…”

Everything bubbling over, Marc felt like he was going to combust, “Do **not** scold me like a child!”

“I’m not,” Taking in every inch of Marc’s reaction, Santi bit his lip, momentarily worried the younger man was simply going to walk out, his plan not quite working as he expected. Softening his voice, Santi shook his head, “I’m really not. I know that this place is beneath you, beneath your abilities, but sometimes fairings need stickers, and Lorenzo would not be impressed if he found out that I was working on the bike with my employee and I was the one doing the stickers and I was letting a new employee do the important work…”

Cringing again, Santi’s words sounding completely logical, Marc shook his head, “I can’t do this. You are too confusing.”

“What do you mean?”

Fixing the older man with a hard stare, Marc shook his head again, his eyes sending a warning, “Don’t do that. You know what I mean…”

“Marc…”

“No,” Wagging a finger, pushing his hand in his pocket when he realised how petulant that looked, Marc finally let rip, barely taking a breath between words, “You know _exactly_ what I mean. One minute I’m an employee that you value, the next I’m your friends son, just a kid, and the next you are…” Blushing red, but continuing, his voice lowered, “The next you are fucking me against your motorhome… Then in the morning you… You…”

“In the morning I made love to you?” Unashamed and not red-face, Santi put his hands on his hips, biting his lip, “I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted.”

“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. Don’t twist it…”

“What are you saying?”

“You’re confusing,” Taking a deep breath, trying to stop his voice sounding quite so shaky, Marc looked Santi straight in the eye, “You’re confusing me. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Marc, you’re Julia’s _son_ …”

“There you go again with that tone. I’m not a child!”

“I didn’t mean that,” Stepping forward and reaching for Marc’s arms, realising for the first time that he did not want Marc to leave, his original plan to play with the younger man rapidly going out the window as he realised how much he enjoyed spending time with him, Santi shook his head, “You think you’re not confusing me?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re my friend’s son, Marc,” Santi breathed out hard, shaking his head, “Can you imagine what my friends would say? Can you imagine for a second how confusing it is to meet you having expected to be thinking ‘oh that’s Julia’s son, I wonder if he’d like some work experience in the garage’ to ‘oh that’s Julia’s son, I wonder if he’d like to share my bed’…”

“Oh,” Marc floundered, the honesty from Santi catching him off guard, particularly the way the older man seemed flustered, “I didn’t really think of it like that.”

“You’re ridiculously young, and ridiculously attractive,” Santi moved closer to Marc, their chests almost touching, his hands still on Marc’s arms, “And there I was sat in that bar, watching you flirt with Eli and _hating_ it… I’m sorry if I confused you, but… You’re not the only one who is confused here.”

“What about Joan?” Unable to keep the hint of hurt from his tone as he said that name, Marc watched the flicker of reaction over Santi’s face, “Does he confuse you too?”

“No,” Momentarily considering telling the truth, Santi couldn’t help himself, game playing such a part of his personality, “Joan isn’t someone you need to worry about.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Really?” Smirking at Marc’s too-quick reply, Santi licked his lips, reaching up with one hand, running a thumb over Marc’s cheekbone, “You are the most confusing person I’ve ever met… You’re too young, you’re cocky, you won’t be here long, you’re my friend’s son, you are off limits Marc Marquez… Yet here you are, all pouty lips and now I know what you sound like when you come apart…”

Leaning up on tiptoes it was Marc who crashed their mouths together, his arms thrown around Santi’s neck as their tongues chased each other, bodies pressed together as they stumbled against the work bench, all thoughts of work forgotten.


	7. Stay

“Oh Jesus… Fuck… Marc….”

“That’s me…” Confidence soaring at the way Santi was coming apart so quickly and easily, Marc ignored the uncomfortable hard ground under his knees and flicked his tongue around Santi’s tip, the salty taste of the older man not unpleasant in the slightest. Decided to push on with having the higher hand, Marc sucked Santi into his mouth, smirking at the litany of cursing that came from above him as his hollowed cheeks worked along Santi’s fat length.

“Not here… Anyone could walk in…” Tugging on Marc’s hair, his toes curling in his boots as Marc did that thing again, Santi let his head rock back, the glint in Marc’s eyes making him shake his head, “You dirty, dirty little…. _Fuuuck_ …”

*

Gagging, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes, Marc let himself be manhandled, Santi’s protestations silenced when his lust took over. Swallowing as best he could as curses filled the air, and cum filled his mouth, Marc panted as he rocked back on his heels.

“Christ you look sinful…” Trousers and pants around his ankles, Santi licked his bitten lips at the sight of Marc; his puffy lips red and sticky with cum, his hair ruffled, clothes rumpled and his eyes dark. Reaching for Marc’s shirt he pulled the younger man to his feet abruptly, both of them almost stumbling over as Santi crashed their mouths together, the taste of himself swapping between them, “Your turn I think…”

Pressed against the workbench, the wooden top digging into his back, Marc yelped as Santi’s hand roughly pushed into his underwear, the grip on his slippery cock, as always, slightly too firm and slightly too rough, tugging him quickly to the edge in a way that was gloriously painful, and wonderfully too much, “Close…”

“Not yet…” Stilling his hand, knowing he was being completely evil, Marc’s disgruntled wail making him smirk, Santi leant in to nip on Marc’s lips, loving the way the younger man chased for more, “Motorhome…

Shaking his head, too close to even think about moving, Marc thrust his hips, trying to slide his cock back into Santi’s grips, “Please, too close…”

“Patience…” Squeezing Marc’s cock, not so hard it was brutal, but hard enough to stave off a little of the desire, Santi leant in, his breath washing over Marc’s ear, “I want to fuck you until you are screaming my name, and have forgotten yours… We can’t do that hear in the middle of the day… Motorhome, naked, on your stomach, now…”

*

“Tell your parents we’re working late and starting early…”

Stretching his neck, giving Santi’s wicked mouth and scratchy beard more access, Marc chuckled, “I thought we’d already started…”

“Devil, you are the devil,” Santi groaned as Marc’s arse rubbed against him, the sticky remnants of their previous, frantic, session still there, “Tell them you’re not coming home tonight.”

Rolling onto his back, missing the sensation of Santi’s mouth on his neck for a moment until being able to see the wanton need on the older man’s face made it worthwhile, Marc quirked his eyebrow, feeling like Santi’s equal allowing his cheekiness to come back, “Staying the night, am I?”

“Up to you I suppose…” Reaching for Marc’s cock, the nibbling on his neck having done the trick of reviving it despite two orgasms already, it was Santi’s turn to smirk at the low growled groan that fell from the younger man, “If you want to leave I could stop…”

Shaking his head, his hips thrusting up from the bed, Marc couldn’t help the begging tone that fell from his mouth, “No! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

*

“That smells good,” Putting his phone on the side, Marc almost curled into Santi’s side when the older man held up the wooden spoon, allowing him to taste what he was cooking, the domesticity of it making him want to purr, “Tastes good too…”

Leaning in, his tongue instantly in Marc’s mouth, Santi waited until Marc sighed against him, before pulling away, cheeky glint in his eye as he nodded, “Tastes very good… Did you speak to your parents?

“Bad man, you are a bad man,” Moving to the mirror, Marc ruffled his hair into something like a normal state, his stomach flipping as he saw Santi check him out again, “And, yeah, I spoke to Mama. She says we’ve not to work too hard for that cad Lorenzo…”

“Cad?”

“She watched some English movie last week,” Marc chuckled fondly, “Now anyone who is remotely dodgy in her eyes is a cad…”

Laughing, not unkindly, Santi added some salt to the stew as a final touch, “Mothers.

“Yeah,” Turning to look at Santi, Marc bit his lip, “What’s your mother like?

Freezing, just for a second, but long enough for Marc to catch it, Santi turned off the gas, the food ready, “She’s dead... Can you pass two bowls out of the cupboard please?

“Sure,” Regretting bringing up Santi’s family, just wishing he knew _something_ about the older man, Marc fetched the bowls from the cupboard, the awkward silence making him want to cry.

*

“Kind, she was kind…”

Looking up, their meal having been in silence so far, Marc frowned, before smiling as he realised, “Your Mama?”

“Yes,” Santi nodded, his voice slightly strained, the hand holding his spoon shaking slightly, “All the kids in my street loved her when I was young as she used to give us all a slice of drizzle cake… She made it with orange because there was an orange tree that overhung our yard…”

“She sounds nice,” Marc beamed, beyond happy to have been given the slighted insight into Santi’s past and family.

“She was the only one who didn’t disown me…” Biting his lip, not having planned to confess anything to Marc, the younger man having got completely under is skin, Santi looked at Marc, pain clear in his eyes, “Never take your parents for granted, Marc. They’re good people. They’ll always love you and Alex no matter what you do, or who you love…”

“I know,” Leaning over the table, sensing that Santi needed the conversation to end, Marc pressed their mouths together, not leading or pushing anywhere, just a comforting warm kiss, “You can really cook…”

*

Splayed out on the sofa, his clothes rumpled, the film long forgotten, Santi closed his eyes and kissed Marc’s head, the younger man sprawled half on top of him. Biting his lip, one hand on Marc’s back, Santi snuggled closer for a second, before taking a breath, “There’s something I need to tell you… About Joan… The thing is… Marc?”

Shifting slightly, Santi laughed softly at the sight of Marc fast asleep, his face even more beautiful in it’s most relaxed form, his smile still as cheeky as ever, “Wake up sleepyhead…”

“Hmm?” Blinking, totally disorientated, Marc panicked for a second when he realised where he was, “Did I drool?”

Laughing, so loud he started the still sleepy younger man, Santi shook his head, “No, you didn’t drool. Come on, it’s time for bed.”

“Staying here?” Still half-asleep Marc smiled at Santi’s nod, allowing the older man to manoeuvre them up off the sofa and into the bedroom. Flopping down onto the bed, Marc chuckled when Santi objected to him taking up most of the bed, “Get in with me then…

Stripping off his t-shirt and joggers, leaving his boxers on, Santi clambered onto the bed, shifting and prodding Marc until he was on his back with the younger man on his stomach, half draped over him, “Good night Marc.”

“N-night Santi.”

Tucking the duvet around them a bit tighter, feeling slightly guilty at not having clarified the Joan situation, Santi kissed Marc’s head, “You are the most confusing person I’ve ever met… Just, please don’t hate me…”

 


	8. Joan

Marc:    Look who I met tonight… _attachment:pic1_

“ **Fuck!** ” Looking down at his phone, the photo almost jumping out of the screen and punching him in the face; the group of young guys so innocent looking, just a bunch of lads enjoying a night out, but Santi knew, in his sinking heart, that Marc would be livid. Tapping the screen, the photo shrinking back to it’s thumbnail size, Santi closed his eyes as Marc’s words appeared on the screen, his lies ruining everything.

Marc:    I know who he is.

*

_Earlier that day…_

“I have to go… My Mama has threatened death if I don’t make dinner, and my brother feels like an only child,” Marc tilted his head further to the left, giving Santi more access to his neck, his mouth nipping and licking over Marc’s neck, “Santi…”

Huffing slightly, smirking at the clear hardness in Marc’s jeans, Santi stepped back, putting his hands on his hips, “Go on then, piss off…”

“I was thinking that we could have to start work _very_ early on Monday morning?” Marc stepped back closer to Santi, the warmth of the older man like an addictive drug, sliding his hands under Santi’s t-shirt, his dark body hair coarse under Marc’s fingertips, “So, I could stay on Sunday night…”

Shaking his head, Santi stepped back out of reach, chuckling at Marc’s whimper of discontent as his hands slipped out from under Santi’s shirt, “I’ll see you on Monday morning. Go spend some time from your family, you’ve been here for a week already.”

“Ok,” Marc pouted, leaning up on his tiptoes, lightly teasing Santi into a kiss; typically them, hard and biting, leaving them both breathless as they pulled apart, “See you on Monday.”

Slapping Marc’s arse, Santi laughed at the unexpected yelp, “Have fun. Not too much though…”

“Don’t miss me too much,” Blowing Santi a kiss, loving the deep rumble of laughter that was returned, Marc bounced down the steps of the motorhome, the aches and pains of a week of almost continuous fucking almost disappearing in a bubble of happiness as he started the twenty-minute walk home.

*

Santi:     I can explain. Please come round.

Marc:    I’m busy. Joan’s nice. I like him.

Santi:     Marc please. Please let me explain.

Santi:     Marc please.

Santi:     I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Santi:     Please answer your phone.

*

_1 hour earlier_

“So, who is he then?”

Sipping on the pint Alex had bought him, their mother having let them off doing the dishes to head out together, Marc feigned innocence, “Who?”

“The mystery man? It’s not Eli,” Taking a sip of his own pint, Alex watched Marc carefully, knowing his brother well enough to know that the tell-tale hint of a limp was caused by his predilection for rough sex, “Come on, you tell me everything…”

“Well,” Marc took mouthful of beer, the point of getting Alex out alone was to tell him, readying himself to speak when a group of three people entered the bar, loudly, two of them friends of his and the third **him** , the guy from Santi’s doorstep, and that taking the wind from his sails completely, “Do you know who that guy is?”

“What guy?” Turning around in his seat Alex scanned the bar.

“The one with Xavi and Luis,” Marc waved awkwardly as Alex’s best friend, Xavi, spotted them and waved, the trio heading over toward the table occupied by the brothers, “I saw him at the garage last week.”

“That’s no surprise,” Alex chuckled, shifting onto the chair next to Marc, moving it slightly so that a fifth chair could be pulled up to the table to accommodate the group, “Joan, this is Marc, my brother.”

“Hi, I saw you at the garage,” Seemingly friendly, Joan held his hand out, Marc shaking it slightly awkwardly, Joan clearly an established part of the group, “I hope my father isn’t working you too hard.”

“Your father?” Marc almost choked on his own tongue, the multiple conversations he’d had with Santi when he’d jealously mentioned the attractive young man from the doorstep, “Santi is your father?”

“Yeah,” Joan laughed, shrugging as he sat down, “I have Mir as my surname from my mother. The divorce was bad. We've only just started speaking again.”

“Right,” Fury building, remembering the sex that had been had fuelled by his jealousy, Marc smiled, trying to hide the feelings churning inside him, “Right. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

*

Santi:     Where are you?

Santi:     Marc please

Santi:     I should have told you who he was. I’m sorry.

*

Scrolling through his photos, numerous having been taken as the group got drunker and sillier, Marc’s heart thumped as he scrolled to one taken by Santi; Marc curled up into his side, asleep, clearly recently fucked, the blissed out look on his face almost heart-breaking now.

“Earth to Marc…”

Jumping at the hand waving in front of his face, Marc stuffed his phone into his pocket, “Sorry, what?”

“I said the others are busy chatting up those girls, do you want another drink?”

Looking at Joan, the attractive younger man leaning on the back of a chair, Marc tilted his head, something just making him curious, “There’s four girls… If you want to join them?”

“Not my type, I’m gay,” Honest with a boldness that was still relatively unusual in their town, Joan tilted his head toward the bar, “Drink?”

Smiling, his phone buzzing with yet another message in his pocket, Marc nodded, a plan forming in his head, “Yeah. Get some shots, why should they have all the fun?”

“I like your thinking…”

*

Marc:    You know that photo you took of me?

Santi:     Which one?

Marc:    The one when I was asleep

Santi:     What about it? 

Marc:    I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why you liked it.

Santi:     You look beautiful.

Marc:    Because I’m asleep? Or because my hair is ruffled, and my lips are swollen, and I am so obviously just fucked?

Santi:     Both.

Santi:     What about it?

Marc:    I get it now.

Santi:     ??

Marc:    _attachment:pic2_

His blood running cold, the sight of Joan, his son, looking so content, curled into Marc’s side, their positions almost identical to the photo of Marc and himself, Santi heard an anguished sound and was confused for a second before he realised it had come from him. His games catching up with him in the very worst way and catching his son in the crossfire.

 


End file.
